The Canvas

The canvas I had painted bright and vivid once upon a time, Fade and wore out by the wind and the rain. And thus I started hating the canvas I could not protect. The canvas that had once stood out from everything Started blending into something lacklustre, Receiving barely any glances. My canvas that had once stood out amongst the crowd. Rage and frustration consumed me; I tore the canvas apart, Only for it to be tossed away by everyone. Being as desperate as i was, i taped the pieces up and painted over it. Tears and uncertainty made me unaware of the hideous painting that i created. I found my canvas being tossed apart once again. And so i hid it, in places nobody could ever see, in places nobody would ever expect. Yet, nothing changed. The one with the mediocre canvas became the one with no canvas at all. The urge to start anew, made me paint the canvas again and again and again. Yet, yet and yet again, it was perceived to be the lacklustre canvas that it once was. I wondered how much I'd have to paint the canvas over for someone to see it for what it really is and not for what it used to be. I wonder if I can ever tear this image to paint a new one. No matter how many times I paint over, it feels no different. The inability to start with a new canvas, to paint something I really want, I wonder if i could ever do that.